My name is Gali, and I'm a perfectionist.
If that sentence reminded you of the share format of alcoholics anonymous, that was the point. Perfectionism, for me, feels like an addiction. The craving for organization amidst the chaos, and the guilt when I inevitably make a mess, is exactly like an addiction.
Sometimes it feels like every area of my life is chaotic - my home, my relationships, my health, the list goes on. The joy and the curse of motherhood is that we constantly live in a world of the perfectly imperfect. Yes, 10 years from now my kids might remember that I rarely swept the floor, and that might affect their own future choices about how to maintain a household. They'll also remember the many times that we baked together, walked the neighborhood together, sang silly songs together. Perfectly imperfect.
High-functioning anxiety plays a role too. Do I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect because I'm terrified to fail? Because the concept of imposter syndrome resonates so deeply with my life experience? Yep. And now that I recognize that anxiety isn't just shaking hands and a racing heart, it can also manifest in overthinking and overlapping and overstepping, well now I can get help.
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| Did you notice the rainbow, or the out of order colors, or both? |
Whether its medication or mediation, therapy regularly or joining a gym, confiding in a friend, or registering for mt friend's course "Firing Ms. Perfect" ... awareness is way more than half the battle. My ducks are not in a row, heck I'm pretty sure there's a duck hanging with the dust bunnies under the couch and another trying to climb out of the pile of clothes on the bedroom floor, and that's okay.
So I confess that I'm perfectly imperfect. The acceptance part... I'll get back to you on that.
I know in my rational mind that I AM enough and AM loved, if I could only convince my heart of the same life would be peachy.
Wishing you peace, love, and acceptance of the inevitable imperfections.
Xoxo,
Mama Gali
